Shenanigans
by Ophelia B
Summary: After countless battles with his mother, a short Italian by the name of Tony manages to talk her into letting him join a Foreign Exchanged Student program. Destination: Manhattan, New York. On hiatus.
1. Bargaining with Satan

This story (well only this chapter since it was all that was posted) might look familiar to a few of you. Well, that's because this had been released once already. However, it was taken down and given to me to finish and so here I am. The chapter is pretty much the same but a few things were switched around.

**Disclaimer: **Disney owns Newsies. Not me. Sorry?

**WARNING: **SLASH.

**Chapter One: Bargaining With Satan**

I sat at the dining room table, my feet drumming against the floor impatiently. My dinner sat in front of me, untouched. Usually, I never skipped a meal or even hesitated to devour any food in front of me, but my mind was elsewhere at that moment.

Recently, I had applied to become a foreign exchanged student, like I did every year, but my mom hadn't quite approved of me leaving yet. My country of choice was always America, and, thankfully, it was accepted-- But the hard part was that I had to get her to approve first. My mom... Well, she wasn't exactly the biggest fan of traveling.

In fact, she wasn't a big fan of anything really.

For about the fiftieth time that night, I glanced up at my mother, opening my mouth to ask her if I could go to America. Like I did for the other forty-nine glances, I closed my mouth before any words could come out and stared back at my plate. I had to chose my words carefully so as to not upset her in any way. I had become a pro at it really; carefully phrasing every sentence that needed to be said in a way that would please Her.

Ma was a very stern looking woman. Her hair, like mine, was black and curly, but Ma's was more frizzy and uncontrollable than mine-- like she was electrocuted or something. But it wasn't that "Haha-She-Looks-Like-A-Fucking-Troll-Doll" frizzy. It was that "Oh-My-God-I-Think-We're-Going-To-Have-To-Perform-An-Exorcism-She's-Possessed" frizzy.

Though very small (another trait I, sadly, inherited from her), Ma could intimidate the strongest man. My sister and I have decided that that was why she was still single. Well, that and the fact that she's Beelzebub in drag.

Our father seemed to be the only man who could get her to actually give a genuine smile. Much to our dismay, our father passed away shortly after Adelina (my aforementioned sister) was born, and we've been pretty much stuck with a bitter woman who glares at anything that moves.

My eyes cautiously drifted from my plate to Ma again. She tried her best to ignore me, but I could tell she noticed me when her nostrils flared the way they always did when she was getting annoyed. Slowly, I picked up a fork to take a bite of the salmon, but set it back down, not really hungry (plus, the salmon looked a bit dry).

Again, I glanced back up at her, causing her to slam the fork down in annoyance. The sharp noise caused my sister and me to wince.

"Anthony, just tell me what you want so we may eat in peace." She demanded, speaking in quick Italian (I'm the only one in my family that can speak English fluently... I can thank MTV for that).

Sitting up straighter, I looked back at my mother and spoke very cautiously. "Well... I got the results from the test back today," I paused, letting the words sink in.

Ma just nodded and waited for me to continue. Truth be told, I hadn't really thought of anything else to say. This was farther than I had ever gotten the previous years when I tried to talk my mother into letting me go to America for a year. My sister, being the smart little cookie she was, must've known this because she opened her mouth to say something.

Ma cut her off with a preemptive glare.

Adelina was a young, less satanic version of my mother. She looked almost exactly like her. Except, she inherited my dad's "tall gene". Fourteen years old and an inch taller than me. Taller than her sixteen-almost-seventeen year old brother. I had decided I was moving to Japan when I was older to live amongst all the other people of small stature.

"And well... Seeing as how I'm going into my last year of high school, this would be my last chance to join the program..." I said when I realized she wouldn't respond until I added onto my comment.

"Yes... Where did you want to go again?" She asked with raised eyebrow. I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes. Ma knew exactly where I wanted to go. We had plenty of talks about it before. I hated how she'd always play stupid when she didn't want to talk about what was going on. I didn't say this, of course, in fear that she'd "bust a cap in my ass" as they often said on MTV.

"The States," I said anyway, just to please her. That's how it was with my mom. If she wasn't pleased, you weren't pleased. Simple as that.

"No," Ma said and tossed her hair over her shoulder before grabbing her fork again.

"Ma! Honestly, I'm not twelve," I said, acting as if I took no notice to the tone in her voice. "It's not like I'm going to be unsupervised." It was rare for my sister or me to even _dare_ contradict my mother (_especially _while she was feeding...), so Adelina and her both looked quite surprised when I did.

She wasn't quite so evil until I daringly "came out of the closet" two years ago. Ever since then, she had been sheltering me... Like it was the world's fault her only son was committing such a blasphemous crime.

"I said _no_," Ma repeated, narrowing her eyes as if challenging me to push the subject. 

"Come on, Ma... Please? It's only for a year."

"No."

"I'll write every two weeks."

"No."

"Every week?"

"No. Damn it, Anthony! I'm not going to let you go to America. Now eat."

"Why can't you treat my like an adult for once?" I glared down at my plate before shoving it roughly aside and causing potatoes to spill onto the table, feeling the need to cause an inanimate object serious pain. Looking back on it, it wasn't exactly the most adult act I had ever done but, dammit, I was pissed.

What's the worst that could happen in America? Why couldn't she just trust me? I'd be living with a responsible family for a year, attending school, and learning about a whole different culture... that basically fed off of sex and drugs.

She slammed her fork back down against her plate again and glared, causing me to shift in my seat uneasily (I swear I saw sparks falling from the tips of her hair).

"You want to be treated as an adult?" She demanded, her voice eerily calm and her brown eye twitching insanely. 

I just sat there in silence until she, somehow, managed to glare ever colder. I could tell she was expecting an answer.

"Yes," I said, not sounding very adult-like whilst doing so.

"Fine. You can go. I will expect a phone call every week. " She said, her voice dripping with malice as she grabbed her plate. Ma looked back up at me before adding "Now eat."

I nodded and pulled my own plate back toward me before taking a bite of potatoes. For some reason, I wasn't very happy about going anymore... Ma always had a way of making people feel guilty when they did nothing. 

But, of course...

My mother _was_ Satan.


	2. America Better Be Fucking Worth It

**Chapter Two: America Better Be Fucking Worth It**

You would think that when one's son was leaving the country for a year they would be at least _mildly_ upset. Not my mother. Not a tear. Not even a meaningful hug before I left. Sure, she gave me one but it was stiff... like she was hugging a stranger.

She didn't even come with me to the airport. I had to take a _bus_. A bus filled with incredibly old people who looked as if they were on the verge of a heart attack.

Of course, with my luck, I was stuck sitting next to the oldest, fattest man on said bus that smelled so bad not even the liters of cheap cologne he was wearing could cover up the stench of wet dog mixed with rotten fish.

Why would my mother force me to take such a trip on my own, you ask? Because my mother is the most stubborn and heartless Italian on this goddamn planet, that's why.

Not only was I forced to ride in an old bus to the airport but I was also forced to fly in an airplane. Yes, I know. I should have know it was pretty much the only way to get to the States. And I _did_ know.

The thought of being miles and miles above ground in a metal bid that could somehow break down and have every single person on said metal bird plummet to their death hadn't really registered in my head until I was actually in one.

Needless to say, I was not very happy.

I bit my tongue to keep from screaming as the plane took off.

The higher up were went, the more scarce I felt the air become.

Soon, I found I was unable to breathe.

The flight attendant must have noticed me hyperventilating in my seat because she handed me a puke bag-like device that smelled like it had already been used. I took it with a gracious nod anyway as I was in no position to complain. Covering my lips with the opening, I began to breathe in and out as instructed.

Okay, so was that supposed to help? If anything it made me want to regurgitate my lunch even more.

So, I did.

It was rather embarrassing. Not because the loud retching sounds I happened to be making as I started to hack up my kidneys but because the bag could hardly contain the contents being heaved into it. Boy, did I feel bad for the person sitting next to me.

As if throwing up wasn't bad enough, I had to sit through a whole plane ride drenched in it.

America better had been fucking worth it.

It took a minute to find the "host family" the was described to me. I was half-expecting that I'd be stuck with the kind of family that would make a big, glittery sign with the words: "Welcome, Anthony!" on it.

Finally, I saw the family from the picture sent to me. They were all sitting on a bench. I had lucked out; there was no sign.

I flung the strap of my carry-on bag over my shoulder before heading towards the family. The Myers, the program told me. God, I wished I could have changed my shirt.

"Anthony?" Mrs. Myers asked, grinning as she stood up. She was a nice looking woman. I noticed that both, her and her husband, dressed as if they were hippies. It suited them though. Vintage was in, right?

She looked as if she was about to give me a hug but changed her mind when she had seen (and probably smelled) the recently created stain on my shirt and put her arms back down and just ran a hand through her stick-straight, blond hair.

"Yeah..." I began nervously, glancing down at my shirt. "Airplanes aren't exactly my thing, as you Americans would say."

The the two parents chuckled and the son grinned.

"James," a tall, broad-shouldered man said. He held out his hand and I shook it. "And this is Janet." James and Janet. Cute.

"I'm Michael." Their son grinned cutely and stood to shake my hand. He nervously ran a hand through his curly brown hair, a habit he probably got from his mother. I was glad I wasn't the only nervous one.

Cute was the perfect way to describe him... like a puppy. He even had puppy eyes. The kind you would look at and know you couldn't be mad at him for long. He also looked a lot like his father, just younger. He didn't dress like a hippie though. Michael dressed more like an Abercrombie model... only he had a shirt on, much to my dismay. Hey, he was a good looking guy.

"Well, why don't we get your bags so you can... change your shirt... and we can get out of here," Mrs. Myers said.

After about fifteen minutes of battling with the luggage-revolver-thing-of-doom, we managed to wrangle up my luggage.

I took a quick trip to the bathroom, locking to door behind me. Quickly, I pulled off my shirt—my favorite shirt, in all it's black, button-up glory—and tossed it in the garbage, resisting the urge to give it a small prayer. Perhaps even a proper burial.

I fished around in my bag and pulled out the first shirt my hand touched (I didn't want to take too long). Thankfully, the black tee-shirt matched my dark-wash jeans. Even if it didn't it would have been a lot more pleasant to wear than the puke-stained shirt I had discarded only moments before.

Even if the shirt was _amazingly_ flattering.

I hurried out of the bathroom, mumbling an apology to a couple angry looked men. They weren't too pleased I hogged the whole bathroom for myself.

"Have everything?" Mr. Myers asked.

"Yes," I nodded, securing my luggage carefully. Michael insisted on helping me carry them to the car. I told him I was okay, but the boy... he was slightly... over-bearing.

"This is great I always wanted a brother even though you're not really my brother but I can't wait to introduce you to the guys are you nervous I would be nervous I mean getting dropped off in a city—continent—I've never been to..."

His whole speech was one long, run-on sentence.

"I hope you're an open minded guy because my boyfriend but I don't think you'll mind you look a little like you swing that way..."

Swing that way... what? Boyfriend? Well, it was kinda obvious he was gay. I mean, no straight man would dare try _that_ haircut.

"I mean no offense I didn't mean anything you're not a total flamer of anything but sometimes you can just tell so am I right you like guys?"

I wasn't used to people being so open. Especially when I had just met them. I considered saying no, but figured that he, having a boyfriend, wouldn't care. Michael's parents probably wouldn't if he was so open to talk about it to them.

Plus, I was finally out of the denial stage.

"Um... yeah..." I cleared my throat, still giving him a weird look.

"Sorry. Am I talking too much?" Finally, some punctuation in his speech. "I tend to ramble on a lot and it's almost impossible to get me to shut—"

"Okay, Mike. He gets it," James snickered, pushing his son in a teasing way. "I'll have to apologize on behalf of my son. He forgot to take his Ritalin today."

The others snickered with him and I laughed along, though I wasn't quite sure what was so funny. Already, though, I could feel myself slightly jealous at the fact that Michael had what seemed to be a good relationship with his father when I didn't even have a father at all.

The car ride wasn't too terrible. Not nearly as awkward as I had expected. As soon as we got to his house (which was quite nice. It had an old look about it, but not run-down or anything) they had Michael lead me up to the guest bedroom that would turn into my very own.

I set my bags down on the bed and took in the room. It was rather plain. The walls were white and the blankets were just plain blue. I didn't mind—it was a place to sleep. I could fix it up to my liking later anyway.

"So, do you wanna unpack or meet the guys?" He asked from his spot at the doorway.

I shrugged and glanced at my bags. I was never a fan of packing.

"Meet the guys, I suppose."

I followed him back down the stairs and expected to leave the house, but instead he took me down another flight of steps. Instantly, I could smell something pungent yet musty. Marijuana, no doubt.

I hadn't ever tried it, but I always smelled it in the school parking lot.

"I wish... I had a car made of weed," I heard a voice say from my spot on the stairs.

"What if you had a car that _ran_ on weed?" Another voice.

"Then the whole world would be high," stated the first voice.

"We'd be a helluva lot happier I bet," A boy with long, sandy blond hair stated. We were finally down the stairs so I could see who was speaking.

My suspicions were correct. As we emerged passed the stairway, I saw four boys passing around a rather large bong.

"Hey Mush!" Another blond boy wearing an eye patch called. This brought two thoughts to my mind:

Either this boy was trying to bring back the whole pirate look or he was blind in that eye.

Who the hell is Mush?

Thankfully, one out of the two was answered when Michael, or Mush rather, practically jumped next to the blond and kissed his cheek. A nickname. How... fourth grade...

"Guys, this is Anthony—"

"Tony," I corrected.

"_Tony_. Tony, this is Jack," Mush pointed so the blond boy who wasn't sucking on his neck, "David," A curly haired, Jewish kid gave a polite wave, "And Skittery." The last boy nodded his head from his spot, sprawled out on a couch.

"Hey, what about me, huh?" The eye patch guy pretended to look upset.

"What about you?" Mush grinned cutely. Blink rolled his eyes with mock-annoyance... maybe he only rolled one... I don't know as the eye patch happened to block my view.

"I'm Blink." Iiii-roo-nyy.

"Hey," I stated simply. I wasn't good at meeting strangers.

"So, what's this guy doin' here?" Skittery asked casually.

"We're his host family, stupid," Mush rolled his eyes. "I already told you about him coming yesterday."

"Host family?" Skittery asked. "You make him sound like a blood sucking, leech-demon."

The boys all erupted into fits of laughter. The four I just met probably laughing hysterically from the pot and Mush because he just seemed like that type. The type that couldn't help but laugh when everyone else was.

**A/N:**

Wow, a new story out _and_ a new chapter out all in the same day. Why, I'm shocked!

So, do you guys like it? Anything I need to clarify/improve on? Constructive criticism is fabulous! Oh, and thanks for all that reviews.


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